A Glimmer of Darkness
by MercurySpike
Summary: Vinnie Terranova is reunited with Roger Loccoco, who takes him to an even more surprising reunion.


**A Glimmer of Darkness**

**(a Vinnie Terranova/Roger Loccoco adventure)**

_**Thanks to Troy Bain for the technical assist**_

"Dead Dog Records, Mr. Terry's office."

There was a cackle on the other end of the line. "Mister … Terry, did you say?"

"Yes, this is Mr. Terry's office," the pleasant young female voice responded, "how may I help you?"

"Okay, can you please give Mr. Terry a message for me?"

"I certainly can, sir. Whom shall I say the message is from?"

Now a low chuckle. "Uh, he'll know who called when he receives the message, trust me."

A slight pause. "Very well, sir, what's the message?" After writing down what she thought she heard, she said, "I'm sorry, sir, could you repeat that? I want to make sure I wrote it down correctly."

"I'm sure you did, honey, but I'll repeat it anyway. The message is just one word: BUCKWHEAT."

Laughter echoed through the halls of the large record label's main office. Had it been a normal hour for people to be about, there would have been plenty of movement, the _RECORDING_ lights would be coming on and off above several of the doors in the main corridor, which opened into spacious state-of-the-art recording studios. Tracks of rhythm-and-blues, rap, jazz and modern pop were laid down here, careers were discovered here, thrived here, and occasionally gasped for their last breath here. But for now, at 3:20 a.m. on a Wednesday, all was silent and few lights were on other than one bright light through the open door of the boss's office.

"Seriously, Vinnie, ya gotta tell me where you came up with this lame-ass persona."

"Aw, come on, Roger! This is home to me. I got one taste of this place … well, the original location, anyway … back in '89, and I didn't wanna leave. There was some shit goin' on, of course, but the deals … the music … discovering something nobody'd ever heard of before … I felt it in my bones! But I couldn't be Vinnie Terranova here. After Sonny and then Stemkowski killed themselves right in front o' me, plus all the shit that went down in Washington … I'd had it. It was time to go."

"So, backtrack a bit for me, man," his old comrade with the seemingly permanent smirk said. "Last I saw you was across the street after the hearings in '88. Then, outta nowhere you call me to play Andy Taylor to some freaky Mayberry, and then … nothing. What happened to you?"

Vincent Terry – or, as Roger Loccoco knew him, Vinnie Terranova – ran his meaty fingers through a thinning mass of salt-and-pepper hair. Though the years had definitely traveled across his face, Roger had to give Vinnie credit for keeping the pompadour alive.

"After Stemkowski electrocuted himself, I ran. I ended up working for a small private garbage disposal company, and after I tried to clean their dirty business dealings up, Frank got shot and I ended up at a church workin' on the bells. Long story short, I worked wiretaps for six years until Frank yanked me back into service to get in with Paul Callendar. I end up raising his son Alex for the next 12 years until he moved to California after college. When his mom went to prison, I quit the OCB cold. I came back to Dead Dog before the week was out. This is where I knew I belonged. Me and Bobby T. did some good work. Got some great stuff recorded, in spite of the grunge movement." His body shook with the thought of the genre. "Man, Bobby taught me a lot, just like he said he would the day I met him." His eyes glazed over for a second, and Roger let the moment happen without interruption. "I miss Bobby. Fuckin' cancer."

"Alright, so … are you ready to be useful again?"

"'Useful'? I'm afraid to ask."

"Somebody wants to meet with you."

"Wait. Wait a minute. Where have _you_ been since that street corner? I don't know if I wanna meet _your_ people!"

"Trust me, Vinnie," his old friend said, "this one you'll want to meet."

In the car, Vinnie wasn't letting his question go. "Seriously, Roger, you vanished. All I had was a 212 phone number, and I'm pretty sure that was rerouted from wherever you really were. I don't see you as 'retiring' to cold New York City."

"You kiddin' me? I wouldn't be caught dead in New York in the winter."

"So … spill."

The driver of the custom 2018 Lexus LC 500 waved his right hand in the air for dramatic effect. "Oh, y'know … here and there."

"That's all I get? Well, I notice you've upgraded a bit from tricked-out machine-gunned old ghetto cruisers." Vinnie felt the fine leather of the passenger door interior.

"This? This is just my 'gettin'-to-places' vehicle. The real fun is had in two or three others." His eyebrows lifted and he gave Terranova a side glance. "By the way, my spies tell me you spent quite a chunk of my money on a liver for Frank's wife … who then left him. Quite the investment picker, ain'tcha?"

Though his compadre wasn't giving out much detail on his own life, Vinnie didn't feel any reason to keep information from him. "I didn't see that comin'. Neither did he. It never bothered me until I heard she had started drinkin' again. She _and_ the liver are gone now."

"So where's ol' Sourpuss?"

"Frank? They were gonna promote him up to one of the big chairs in the OCB, and he surprised 'em all by retiring. He's fishing in Wisconsin now. I talk to him once a month or so." There was no reason to mention it to Roger, who hadn't met the Lifeguard, but Vinnie still spoke with his "Uncle Mike" at least monthly.

The sleek vehicle turned onto a private road, then came to a smooth stop near a helipad. A chopper awaited the men, its blades at full speed. Before exiting the car, Vinnie observed, "You still know how to get around, don'tcha?"

Loccoco's hand clapped the record company president on the shoulder. "My man, it's all about making an impression."

By now, the sun was visible on the horizon, showing the men all of New York in its finest glory. The early summer dawn was a bit cool, but the day promised to be beautiful and warm. Roger piloted the helicopter to a specific helipad atop a nondescript rectangular skyscraper among many others. The logo for "SP Import/Export" appeared on one side of the building, which was nowhere near the tallest building in the vicinity, but it wasn't lost in the shadows, either.

Exiting their transport, the men hunched their shoulders against the chill of the altitude and hurried to the one door on the roof. Down one flight of steps, Vinnie followed Roger down a couple of hallways to an elevator. Inside, his guide pushed the "22" button and they descended only three floors.

After the doors parted, Roger turned to his friend. With a sly smile and a wink, he said, "Follow me, Buckwheat."

Curious but cautious, Vinnie followed. His eyes darted everywhere for any sign of why they were there or who they might be there to see. Nothing rang any bells in his memory. He was about to ask his old friend if he'd made a mistake in the address when his guide opened the plain wooden door under the number 3220 and waved him in.

"My client awaits. I have an important mission of my own to accomplish tonight, but I promise I'll be back to pick you up."

"Roger, wha—"

"Ah, ah, ah." One aging finger raised next to Loccoco's well-managed hair. "This surprise is too big to ruin. Step inside the rabbit hole, Alice."

With caution lights going off in his brain, Vinnie decided he had enough faith in his covert brother to step in. He couldn't imagine Roger contacting him out of the blue after thirty years, only to deliver him to his doom. Hell, if Roger had wanted him dead, he was perfectly capable of blowing him away anywhere he chose. Vinnie wouldn't have known what – or who – had hit him. This trip couldn't have been just to put his life on the line.

With no great words coming to the surface as an exit line, Terranova stepped into the plush and classy outer office of someone's inner sanctum. The second door was ajar, and there was activity in the other room. He didn't even hear the first door click shut behind him as Loccoco slipped out and away.

"Hello?"

The activity in the next office came to an instant halt, then moved again, but slower.

"Mr. Terranova, I presume." The voice was female. Refined but with a hint of recognition and a drop of honey. "Do come in."

Watching his surroundings in the dimmer room, he slowly approached the light. Coming to the door, he put one meaty hand up to push it open. The hand had a few years on it now, but also one gold ring with a diamond accent. He had long felt that Vinnie Terranova the government hitman was dead, leaving only Vincent Terry the music mogul behind. He wasn't quite sure who he should be to meet this particular … "client," did Roger call her? … but both personae's heart rates were at a maximum as he finally stepped inside.

He was greeted with the high back of a top-shelf leather chair. "I wasn't sure you'd come," the voice said from the other side of the leather. "I'm so happy you did."

"Look, Miss … can we dispense with the intrigue here? I really don't have the—"

Vinnie lost his voice and his complete train of thought as the chair jerked around and stopped, much the way a teenager would whip a chair in his father's study around to scare someone. She had some years added to her face, no doubt, but her eyes looked at him the same way as they had the last time they had kissed before her brother Mel died. Only one word snuck out of his mouth.

"Susan."

She didn't move, but her smile was that of a much younger woman than he saw before him now. The eyes were playful, as they had been when she had taken him for a hot dog on the streets of New York, and as they had been when they had almost made out in the back of her limo at the baseball park. They were no longer a doped-up empty void, as they had been when he last saw her in the upscale and very private Lakeview facility. He had left her to the experts, but he had assumed she'd be there for the rest of her days, clutching onto the book of baby names, still believing she was pregnant with his child.

"Hello, Vinnie." Her voice was calm, mature, businesslike.

"How long have you been … back?"

She stood. Not quickly, but Vinnie flinched nonetheless. Rabbit hole, indeed, Roger. This felt like a dream. Or a nightmare. Vinnie managed to stand his ground while she stepped around the desk and up to face him.

"They let me go seven or eight months ago. I was going to contact you on my very first day out, but I thought it might be better instead to get my bearings back. To …" She looked around the office casually. "… establish myself. Once I felt I was in a position to see you again without completely embarrassing myself, I contacted Roger and … well, you know the rest."

Her right hand, which had been wafting through the air along with her musing, came to rest gently on his silk tie. He felt the pressure and the warmth of the hand through his clothes, but he was still having trouble believing what he was seeing.

And feeling, both inside and out.

Susan's eyes continued to mesmerize and approach him as she closed in on him. With her sharp chin almost touching his outfit, her enormous doe-like eyes looked straight up into his.

"Don't I get a hug from an old friend?"

He did his best to sound happy and calm. "Uh, sure."

He put his massive arms, still in decent shape for a 65-year-old desk jockey, around her shoulders, but he didn't squeeze. To him, she was still a delicate patient, and he didn't want to frighten or break her. In contrast, Susan Proffitt put her whole body into the embrace, burying her face into his chest, pushing her torso and hips into him. She didn't make a sound, but the way her head shook before she let him go, she seemed ready to burst and scream.

He just wasn't sure if it would be from joy or lunacy.

"Oh, Vinnie!" she exclaimed, her face coming back out to look up into his. "I have waited so long to see you again. To … _feel you _… again! And now, all that matters is that we're together."

His singular primitive eyebrow raised over both widened eyes, and he pushed her shoulders back from him. "Uh … Susan, that's … very nice of you." He stepped back, leaving a respectable business-mode distance between them. "So, uh … how've you been? This is quite a setup you have here. What sort of business did you start?"

Her brown locks had lost their sheen, and she'd cut the cascading length to a vastly different updo, but her face still shone when she looked at him. Smile lines, crow's feet, and not-so-subtle makeup aside, this was still the Susan he last saw in 1988. When he loved her.

"Import/export. Nothing too impressive. And _nothing _illegal. All above board, I assure you."

"That's great, Susan, it really is." To keep himself from pacing or bolting, Vinnie sat down on the expensive-looking white leather sofa. "So … what is it that I can do for you? I mean, I'm not exactly in the protection business anymore."

"Oh, yes, I know! I studied up on you, believe me. It was always my plan to get back in touch once I was released, and now, with the ease of the internet and your much more public face, it was a piece of cake to find you. _Rolling Stone_, _SPIN_, _People_ for God's sake … you've really made a name for yourself!"

"I've been busy," he responded, with an uncontrolled blush, "but I've been lucky, too. I'm doing something I love. The fame is just icing."

"And the money's good."

"Well, it beats drivin' a truck, if that's what you mean." He was feeling a bit more at ease, but even that made him suspicious.

She laughed lightly as she turned to walk back around to her chair. "That's wonderful, darling. I'm so proud of you." She opened the center drawer of her modern feminine desk and looked down to retrieve something. "To answer your question, what you can do for me is very simple."

Instantly, Vinnie was facing the barrel of a very shiny Glock.

"You can die for me, sweetheart."

Vinnie's hands came up instantly. His instincts told him to dive for the gun, but his aging body responded that that might not be the smartest move.

"Susan, what the hell are you doing?"

"I'm getting even with you, my love." Her voice maintained its happy sing-song cadence, but her eyes had gone blank. He was not her Vinnie anymore. He was just the guy who left her in an institution.

"Well, look, put me in a home, then. Hell, I'm old enough for one."

She took the safety off. Humor wasn't working.

"While that may seem just to you, you're forgetting something."

"What's that?"

"You killed our child, Vinnie."

_Oh, shit! _he thought. _She's still gone._

"Now, look … Susan … I understand what you must be feeling, but take it from me, you were _not_ pregnant when you went into the hospital." He moved from the couch and attempted to make it to the still-open door, but the gun barrel followed him everywhere he stepped.

"That's what the doctors told me, too. The fools! How could they not see the glow on me? I was having _your _baby, Vinnie! I loved you, and you left me there to rot."

"You needed help, Susan! You didn't know if your brother was alive or dead, even though it was you who gave him the lethal injection and sent him off in a Viking funeral."

"But I _heard _him, Vinnie! I heard Mel telling me to sign those forms over to Roger."

"No, Susan. You need to have a little chat with our boy Roger. He set that up. He rigged recordings of Mel to play in your house. He wanted you to go off the deep end, and it worked. You can ask him. I'm sure he'll admit it, and even brag about it!"

"I'll deal with Roger in good time, but first, I needed him to bring me _you_. You can't think that I'd let you get away with murdering our baby and then just waltzing off to live the high life, can you?"

Vinnie's hands danced between them. He continued to move slowly about the room. Constant moving targets in front of her eyes and aim. He just needed to keep her talking and figure a way to get out the door, and at least on the other side of it, if not far away. The view of the sun rising over the tops of Manhattan's myriad of skyscrapers was a sight to behold. It occurred to some small part of Vinnie's mind that it would be a beautiful final view, if that's what it was to become for him.

He came to rest for a moment just a few steps from the door, facing the front of her desk. He couldn't see her eyes or her face with the sun directly behind her. She was washed in a halo of sunshine around her darkened figure, and with the light as it was, he couldn't even see the gun she held straight out at him. His hands relaxed and slowly lowered.

"Susan, I don't know what else to tell you. I promise you that I was going to take care of you when I thought you were pregnant, but the doctor told me it was a hysteri– uh, that you weren't pregnant. You just have to believe me."

"Well, I _don't!_" the shadowed figure screamed.

"I don't know what else to say." Resigning himself to the fact that his life might end in this room, he took one step toward the couch. "I just–"

The crash of glass and the slump of her figure across the desktop happened too quickly for Vinnie to react in any way, other than to flinch. Before he could dive anywhere, it was over. He felt the sudden rush of wind hit his face. His mouth came open, but he didn't know what he was supposed to do or say at this moment. If the shooter had wanted him dead, too, he'd already be dead. His federal agent instincts kicked in automatically, and he knew to touch nothing, but he visually inspected the back of Susan's head. Amid graying brown waves and specks of sunlight-reflecting glass, Vinnie saw a small pool of blood. She didn't move and no breathing could be seen or heard. He felt her still-warm jugular for an instant, but he knew what he'd find there, and he was right.

"Susan," he murmured. No other words came to him. He stepped backward out of the office, eyeing the body as if it would suddenly sit up and laugh at his shock. Instinctively, he took out his breast pocket handkerchief (old school gentleman that he liked to think he still was), and wiped the middle of the wooden door, just in case. He likewise wiped the outer door's knob. Not coming up with anything else he'd touched, Vinnie moved rather slowly to the elevator, took it to the lobby, and ambled out the main doors while staring blankly at just the space in front of his feet as he walked.

He was startled when his smartphone rang, playing "Across Time," the latest Top Ten hit single from Dead Dog Records. With his mouth still dangling, he brought the phone out of his jacket pocket, hit the green button and uttered, "Vince Terry."

"Hey, Buckwheat, is your surprise par—I mean your business meeting over with yet? I'm back in the neighborhood if you need a taxi."

Vinnie looked up. Before he could respond, a Lincoln Town Car slid up the skyscraper's arcing main drive and stopped so the passenger door lined up perfectly with where the record company exec was standing. Before he opened the door and slumped into his seat, Vince Terry, born Vincent Michael Terranova, cut the open call with a thumb and slid his phone back into his pocket.

Closing the door with a soft padded thud, he turned to his friend, his unibrow twisted into something like a question mark. "Did you just—? Where was this 'mission' of yours that you had to accomplish during my … meeting?"

"Approximately a thousand yards away. I had a date with a long gun and a heavy barrel. More specifically, a 6.5 Creedmoor." Vinnie's driver looked straight ahead at the road, with only the slightest hint of a smile in the corner of his lips.

There was no point in playing coy. "How did you know she was going to pull a gun?"

"I didn't," Roger said simply, "but a long-term overmedicated mind is not something one should trust to be stable."

After approximately a mile of silent travel, with both passengers gazing past the oncoming headlights and reflective lane markers, Vinnie uttered in a low voice, "Thanks for bein' there for me, Roger."

The lip corner curled up a notch. "I wouldn't have it any other way, Buckwheat. However, as I am a professional, there _is _the matter of my fee."

Again, the Italian brow furrowed. "Fee? But I didn't hire you."

"Not really," his friend … one of his oldest and closest friends, as it turned out … responded, "but aren't you glad I was prepared?"

Vinnie chuckled. "Yeah. Yeah, I am."

"Good! Then we'll call it even with a round number. Say, one."

"One, Roger?"

"Yep. For killing your killer before your killer killed you, I will charge you one million of my dollars which you were left to babysit." Finally, the driver and aging government and underworld assassin turned briefly to look at Vinnie. "You _do _have at least one million of my dollars left behind your mother's wall, don't you?"

Travelling back to Dead Dog, this time through town instead of over it, Vinnie felt that his old partner in crimefighting was about to disappear again for an unknown period of time. "How did—?" Best not to ask, he concluded. Not like he would get a straight answer anyway. "Yeah. Yes, I can handle that fee. I saved over the years … barring life-saving operations for friends' wives … plus this music thing just might turn into somethin' someday."

Vinnie smiled at Roger. Roger slid his eyes to meet his friend's and hinted of another sly grin. Vinnie asked a question he really expected no straight answer to.

"So, what's next for you?"

"Oh," Roger sighed, "I was thinking of dropping in on another old friend and reminiscing about all our good times." He paused for dramatic effect. "Does Frank mind strong knocks at his door at two in the morning?"

The laugh between them lasted for many miles.


End file.
